It was Peter's cold that woke him. A coughing fit that shook his entire frame and tore at his already raw throat also dragged him from a restless sleep that had been filled with all kinds of images that were already fading from his memory. Images of a flight in the jet, and a landing in a field outside of a warehouse. He didn't recognize the area, but it looked like farmland.
Strong hands pulled him upright, and he opened his eyes to find Stephen Strange settling himself next to him, supporting him until the irritation that caused the coughing eased and he was able to take a couple of deep breaths. Behind Strange, Pepper was also watching him, and Peter was aware that the cloak was wrapped around him, its magical fabric warming him enough that he finally didn't feel chilled.
"Hey…"
Strange placed his palm against Peter's forehead.
"Hello. Still miserable, I see."
"Yeah."
"Drink this."
He handed the boy a large mug that was filled with a greenish liquid that was steaming, but not especially hot. Peter looked at it dubiously. Even with his sense of smell dampened by the stuffiest nose he could ever remember having, the stuff smelled awful.
"What is it?"
"No clue. Wong made it and sent it with me. It'll help."
It tasted as awful as it smelled. Peter gagged on the first swallow, but downed the entire mug as quickly as he could. Then he handed the mug back to Strange, who got up and allowed him to lay down again.
"Go back to sleep, Peter," he suggested.
"Are they back, yet?"
"Not yet."
"Are they okay?"
"They're fine."
He had to assume that if something had gone wrong, Pepper would have heard, and he'd been with her in the room for the last six hours almost constantly.
Peter closed his eyes, accepting that for the truth and the cloak draped itself back around him now that he was prone, covering his shoulders and neck. Strange pulled the blankets up to cover anything the cloak wasn't. Whether it was his illness, or the concoction that Wong had made for him, Peter was asleep again in moments.
"Shouldn't we feed him something?" Pepper asked, watching. "He didn't eat any of his breakfast."
"It won't kill him to miss a meal or two," Stephen assured her. "I'd rather he slept, really."
She didn't look a hundred percent convinced, but she trusted him, and nodded. She sat back down at her desk, finished with work for the moment, and ready to relax now that Peter was asleep again.
"Chess?"
"Sure."
OOOOOOOOO
Stark was glad that he'd accompanied the group.
The mercenaries were all grumbling, not willing to trust the contact that had been placed in position as their go between for them and the government official. Natasha and the mercenary leader were working to smooth things out – and he really was trying to cooperate with her, but the others didn't trust the contact. Or maybe they didn't trust the small army that the contact had brought with him.
They were all in a large warehouse, outside of Arad. Tony and Steve were standing behind Natasha, providing her with backup, both physical if needed and perceptual – to remind the mercenaries and contact alike that she was the one talking to them, but she wasn't going to be the only dog in the fight if things went south. Clint was in the jet, which was in the air, hovering above the warehouse, mirrored to hide itself. The jet would be firepower if needed, or an escape if it came down to that.
"What's he saying, Nat?" Steve asked, not taking his eyes of the contact.
"He thinks Dilok is lying, and wants proof of the contract."
"Thinks he is lying?" Steve clarified. "Or says he is lying?"
Calling a man a liar in front of his people was a bad idea – and certainly a good way to start a fight that none of them really wanted.
Suddenly, something very wrong was said by the contact to the mercenary leader.
Before Friday had a chance to translate for Tony, the small army of the contact's all pulled weapons. Which of course caused the mercenaries to do the same. Stark activated the Ironman suit instantly, adding a much bigger match to the powder keg, and the room got really quiet.
OOOOOOOO
The man in front of Natasha had a gun. It wasn't pointed at her, but it was much too close to her for comfort. As he watched, everyone in the room suddenly had guns, too. Except for Steve. He had his shield up, his body language and his mind telling the boy that his first move would be to shield Natasha, who understood this and would take the right step backward to allow the two of them to work as a team to take down the contact, first. They worked together so often, and so well, that there wasn't even conscious thought about it.
"No!"
Peter panicked, even watching from as far away as he was. He had been able to follow the conversation – even in Romanian – and had seen the building antipathy between the mercenaries and the contact and his army.
The gem, which was linked to him to allow him to check on those he had been so worried about, and was also using Romanoff's language skills to automatically translate the conversation for Peter, reacted immediately to that fear. It pulled the knowledge of what could be done from another source that wasn't even close to Romania – or to the conflict – and used the boy's innate ability to immediately quell the danger to those that Peter was worried about.
OOOOOOOO
"What the hell?"
They were the only three still standing in the entire room. And none of them had fired a shot, or moved. A yellow shield had appeared for an instant, a flash of brilliant red, and suddenly everyone else had dropped without a sound, weapons all rattling as they hit the ground.
"Friday?"
"No clue."
Natasha stepped forward, crouching down beside the leader of the mercenaries to put her hand against his neck, looking for a pulse. She didn't see any blood.
"He's alive."
"This guy is, too," Steve said, checking the contact's pulse.
"Anyone have any idea what just happened?" Stark asked.
"Not a clue."
"Let's get their weapons away from them and see if we can wake them up," Romanoff said, reaching for the leader of the mercenaries' gun. "Then we can finish the conversation with a little less drama."
"Sounds like a plan," Tony agreed. He wanted to get home as soon as possible.
OOOOOOOOO
Peter jerked awake with a start, the weird dream already fading, and his head pounding in time to his heartbeat. He looked around, squinting against the pain in his head and the lights that suddenly seemed so bright.
Strange and Pepper both looked over at him from where they were sitting at her desk, playing chess.
"You okay?" Pepper asked, worried.
"Yeah."
"Headache?" Strange asked, noticing the way he was wincing.
"Yeah."
He got up and walked over to Peter, and another mug was suddenly in his hand.
"Drink this."
Peter made a face.
"That's Wong's stuff?"
"Yes. Drink it."
Pepper smiled at the look the boy gave the doctor, and then the mug when it was handed to him. But he drank it down, despite the awful taste.
"Ugh."
Strange smiled, too.
"Ready for dinner?"
Peter shook his head and lowered it back to the pillow. The cloak crooned gently into his head, covering him right up to his chin.
"Sleepy…"
"Let's get something in you, first," the doctor told him. "Then you can sleep as much as you want."
The more the better, as far as he was concerned.
